


Where I Go, I Just Don't Know

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Soul to Squeeze: Pitstop on the Farewell Tour [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Dark, Gen, Mild Language, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon





	Where I Go, I Just Don't Know

**~Where I Go, I Just Don’t Know~**

  


He finally risked a glance at the alien, something inside his chest rebelling at the way he was so gray and small in the passenger seat – his confession having shrunk him into ordinary – and everything in Dean hated that. The Time-Lord was anything but ordinary, he was anything but faded and miniscule.

The words finally found him and he wondered how he couldn’t have grasped them before. They were perfect in their honest simplicity: something he could say easily without breaking either of them, something that he would listen to if they were said to him.

“You can’t make me stop caring about you, Doctor.” He made himself mirror the Doctor’s calm: hands still, breathing even, letting the thoughts fill the gray corners of his mind. Dean was half-grateful he didn’t stop to rethink what he would say. The truths rolled off of his tongue like they had just been waiting for his jaws to unlock. “You can’t make me stop wanting to help you.”

“I know. I wish I could,” the Doctor started to say, then shook his head, echo of his familiar half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it never reached his eyes. “Never mind. You can’t help me, Dean, not this time. But thank you. I’ve always –”

“Don’t. Doctor, ” Dean licked his lips, trying to keep the plea out of his voice, trying to keep his tone calm and steady, knowing just how important it could be, now more than ever. “Just promise me something.”

“If I can.” The Time-Lord’s voice was hesitant, but he sounded willing to play along for the moment. “There are some things -”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Dean nodded, sneaking another glance at the Doctor, hoping he said this just right – hoping that somehow, he could make him listen.

He felt a flicker of hope when the Doctor looked back steadily, the alien’s need to make _Dean_ feel better over-riding anything he might feel. It was another deflection, another line of defense, but once again, this was something Dean could understand (even if he couldn’t fully get behind it). As long as the man listened, Dean would consider damn near anything a win.

“Just – before it happens,” Dean paused, letting his eyes drift away for a fraction of a second, the Time-Lord’s gaze once more a heavy (but familiar) weight across his skin. “Get some answers, yeah?”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed as if he was confused, though his half-smile never wavered. His eyes still sad, still too _old_ for Dean’s liking, but there was something else behind them, something that eased the tension in Dean’s shoulders and uncoiled the tightness in his chest just a little. It was the look of awe and pleasure the Time-Lord would sometimes get at those odd, close moments – that spark that made you want to laugh a little, to have him look like that again and again and again. The look that said you had done something spectacular.

It drifted like a cloud in front of the sun before falling away again, the Doctor shaking his head as the half-smile slipped from the corner of his mouth. Dammit, why couldn’t he stop being pig-headed for just _two seconds_?!

“Dean.” Just one word, but Winchester understood everything being said within it.

He understood, but he refused to let himself get wrapped in the Doctor’s lack of hope, the Time-Lord’s determination to carry on blindly. Walk into his destruction without a thought, without any _hesitation_. It would be a worthless sacrifice in so many ways. If he just walked into it without knowing why, without _knowing_ –

 _Why must you pick now to be serious? Why_ now _?_

Delicate truths carried their own weight, but (hopefully, maybe, possibly) they could also ease the burden the Time-Lord carried, if not leave him feeling less alone.

‘ _You are never alone, Doctor, not as long as I’m here, I can promise you that_.’

“Please. For me,” Dean pressed, frowning down at his fingers when the Doctor made a small unhappy noise beside him, knowing he had pushed that one final button the Time-Lord couldn’t resist: a plea from a friend. Consideration _for_ that friend was so deeply etched into the alien’s psyche, there was no refusing it. “I don’t know what happened with Amy and Rory...and _christ_ , and River. But I know you did everything you could to prevent it.”

“Dean...” Another sorrowful snatch of breath from the passenger seat, the Doctor’s whisper ringing through the stillness of the Impala’s interior like he had shouted it. Dean waited him out – knowing it might take a minute, it might take quite a few – but this was make or break time. He had the Doctor listening, had him _thinking_. All Dean had to do was be patient, let him speak, and the pieces would fall into place.

The Doctor fidgeted for a moment, his restlessness a good sign as far as Dean was concerned. Any touch of animation, any fleeting glimpse of that _spark_ , meant that he was thinking, reacting. Dean felt he could breathe again, reassured of who it was sitting beside him. He no longer had that sense of a stranger wearing the Doctor's face. Even if the alien was just trying to reiterate what he had already said earlier, the _way_ he said it was different now. The energy behind it was more fiery, his voice steadier without that frosty calm that had set Dean's teeth on edge.

He was finally getting through, pushing past the Oncoming Storm to the man underneath. It was good to see him again. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed him until that moment. All this time, Dean had worried whether he should have confronted the Time-Lord or not, but now he was fiercely glad the Doctor had come, that the TARDIS had thought to drop him off at Singer Salvage. _This_ was a man he could save, even if he had to save him from himself. Fuck knows they had done that exact same thing for each other countless times in their brief (but tight) friendship.

Dean only wished he could do this a thousand times more.

_If wishes were horses…_

“Your surety is touching.” A dry volley, the words designed for sarcasm, but the sincerity behind them left the intended barbs falling short of the mark. The Doctor waited a beat or two before continuing, his voice gentle as if he was explaining something that was hard to understand, even for him. Dean didn’t begrudge him the effort; as in most things with the man, he fully grasped the motivation behind it. He just refused to be swayed by it. “But…being around me, it-it _kills_ people.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed again, eyes closed as he tried to breathe through his own words – keep himself rational and calm – distant from the words he spoke. Dean’s heart clenched in protest, but he stayed quiet, let the words wash over him and be felt in a way they never had been before. The echoes of his own inner thoughts falling out of the Doctor’s mouth with a rolling ease that left him spooked and oddly resentful. He couldn’t deny that such heavy loss was a Winchester fate, but it was hard to hear that it was the Doctor’s as well: even if he had always, _always_ known the Doctor lost more (in his mind), than he had ever saved.

“ _Good_ people, Dean, and I…I just can’t take that anymore.” Dean looked up to see that soft twitch of a smile sitting on the Doctor’s lips again. His eyes terrible, yet kind, even as the most awful half-truths fell out of his mouth. His ability to lie to himself was only surpassed by his ability to lie to others. “You see it as suicide, I see it as...removal of a problem. You may be right. I may have saved a lot of people – but I’ve killed so many _more_. I’ve gotten reckless, Dean. I’ve gotten old and thoughtless.”

It was Dean’s turn to shake his head, refusing to hear any more slander against the Time-Lord, even if it came from his own mouth. He knew why the Doctor was saying it. He finally knew why he had pushed everyone away, why he tried to convince himself and his friends that he wasn’t worth the effort. Dean didn’t know how Amy and Rory had handled this moment (if they had even been given that chance) but he knew he wasn’t going to let it pass without calling it out for the bullshit it was.

“You’re not going to convince me, so you might as well stop right there.” He took a deep breath, feeling the actual truth of the matter sing up from that tight spot in his chest, easing the ache as he told the Time-Lord what they both needed to hear, as bare and raw as they could take it. “And I know if I called up Amy and Rory right now, they’d be heartbroken. So - so much for breaking anything.”

He ignored the small unhappy noise the Doctor made and barreled on through, knowing these things needed to be said. It might not stop the inevitable – hell, it might make walking toward it harder in the long run – but he couldn’t let the Doctor walk to his death unloved and unwanted, with no one to fight for him, fully believing that no one would. There were some lies that should never be told, least of all to oneself. It had taken Dean most of his life to figure that out, and he still wasn’t done learning.

“You can’t stop people from caring about you – hey! You listening to me? You can’t stop that any more than you stopped caring for us. I mean, you are going to what - step in front of a bullet or something? - and save us all. Because _that_ is what you _do_.” _What_ we _do._ “But don’t try to convince me that it is ‘okay’ for you to do that. I’m mad as _fuck_ that you are going to die and that I can’t do a _damned_ thing about it. But I won’t disrespect your reasons. And I’m sure if anyone could have found a way - it would have been you.”

The Doctor's hands twisted and twisted in his lap, the movement a clear sign of how stunned Dean’s outburst had left him. The Time-Lord’s eyes were distant as he watched his fingers dance together and apart again, lips thin as he mulled over Dean’s words.

Was it really less than an hour ago he looked like this; looked so, so old and so, so very young?

A feeling of déjà vu swept down Dean's spine and across his shoulders, making him shiver. Even the Doctor's brief half-smile couldn't remove the chill from Dean's bones. The aliens' eyes said it was going to be okay, but it really, really wasn't. Dean found it hard to breathe against such a look, but this time it was for all the right reasons.

There was just a hint of humor when the Doctor finally spoke, driving home the seriousness of his question. "Never stopped believing, have you, Dean?"

The Doctor had always held such unshakeable faith in him, it was almost too easy for Dean to return the favor.

“Fuckin’ A, _right_ ,” Dean coughed, letting his eyes drop and resisting the urge to smile. The sudden realization of just how personal the last forty-five minutes had been had him instinctually backpedaling, but only just a little bit. “Just...ask why, okay? That’s all you have to do. Maybe it will lead to an answer. Maybe it will lead to the right _question_. But promise me you’ll ask why.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Tired, but with that touch of life Dean had been seeking since the TARDIS first touched down in Bobby’s yard. It made him sound like the _Doctor_ , and Dean allowed the small – okay, _large_ – part of him that had missed the man soak it up while he could. He may be losing another friend, but the Doctor was still willing to be Dean’s friend, to give back a little. Albeit, this time around Dean at least had some warning before the Time-Lord just disappeared from his life. Though, on some level, Dean couldn’t quite decide if that was better or worse.

He turned the Chevy’s engine over, letting her throaty purr over-ride the Time-Lord’s objections. The classic machine rumbled beneath them in that wonderfully familiar way that left them both smiling in contentment. Dean paused for a moment, dropping her into drive before turning to give the Doctor an assessing glance, letting his smile stay even though he needed the alien to take him seriously. He needed him to do more than listen – he needed him to walk away with the need to know, even if it changed nothing. Dean needed him to _know_ before he just accepted. That was the only way true peace could be achieved here.

“That’s all,” Dean said gently, but firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument, or interpretation. “Just promise me you’ll ask why.”

He was more than a little pleased when the Doctor jerked his head in a nod, his gaze meeting Dean’s and showing he was being truthful, even if not completely honest – well, as truthful as the Doctor ever could be, at least.

“Okay, Dean...for you.” The Doctor let that sit between them for a moment before chuckling quietly. The indefinable touch of mirth he generally carried was creeping back into his expression, spilling out of the corners of his mouth and eyes. His voice thick with fond exasperation when he next spoke, “ _Why_ do I let you talk me into things?”

Dean laughed at that, the sound surprising, relieving and just a touch _disbelieving_. There was no real answer. The two of them had a bad habit of doing just that. Talking one another in and out of so much crap, it was astounding they hadn’t known each other their whole lives.

So he gave the only answer he could: an answer that was not an answer, even as it covered every question that could ever be asked.

“Cause I’m fucking _adorable_.” It was cheeky, irreverent and just what the doctor ordered.

“I guess you are at that,” the Time-Lord rumbled, laughter edging his words even as he kept his voice even and nonchalant.

“Damn right.” Dean nodded, almost sighing with happiness as he pulled onto the road, turning the Chevy’s nose back the way they had come, but not letting off the brake fully, not yet.

He turned to look at the man in the passenger seat, wondering if there was more to be said, wondering if he could fully express how grateful he was to be his friend, even if it was for such a fleeting span of time. He could feel his shoulders rise in an outward shrug, even as he gave himself a mental shake. There really were no words; but as the Doctor smiled at him (ridiculous bowtie tilted and slightly askew), he knew he really didn’t need them.

“Now, let’s get you back to the Old Girl. Sure She misses you by now,” Dean mused, letting the Impala idle down the dirt lane. Even if he was grateful to leave all the pain behind them, Dean felt a longing tug for the quiet and peace they left in their wake.

“And Sam will be wondering where we’ve run off to…” The Doctor returned mildly.

“That, too,” Dean agreed. Then, “While I have a chance -”

“More ‘ _chick-flick_ ’, Dean?” A soft nudge, a light tease to keep them both from sliding backwards, and oh, how Dean had missed this asshole.

“Shut up,” Dean groused, but there was no heat behind it. He kept his tone light, hoping his words could cover everything, even when they were staggeringly inadequate in his own head. “Thank you...and-and I’ll miss you. You’ve…been a great friend. It’s kept me going, knowing you’re out there, doing your thing amongst the stars.”

_And I think it will half-kill me when you aren't anymore..._

“Sounds like you’ll be fine,” the Doctor said lightly, but his profile said he heard, he understood – and how could you not miss someone (already) who always got you when even you couldn’t understand yourself? “You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

It was self-depreciating, but more from habit than anything else, that smile still lining the inside of the Time-Lord’s voice.

“Doubt that...” Dean admitted in a sudden burst of honesty, trying to not tense when the Doctor shot him a look of surprise. “And I’m _anything_ but fine. I’ve learned how to deal over the years, but…” He shrugged, feeling better for having said it, even as his insides rebelled slightly, years of habit almost overriding his need to give a little. He had pushed the Doctor hard today, the least he could do was give something back.

The Time-Lord absorbed that for a moment, head tilted to watch Dean, even as it looked for all the world that he was taking in the scenery outside as it steadily flowed by them. The Impala’s speed picked up as they neared the point where dirt and gravel became pavement. He watched the Doctor nod to himself, their eyes meeting before Dean’s went back to the road, and the Doctor’s to the passenger window, reflection ever watchful.

“I’m sorry,” the alien started, pausing to lick his lips, his voice just a touch deeper with unspoken sympathy. “I’m sorry…about Castiel. I shouldn’t have made that crack earlier –”

“No. I know why you did,” Dean replied. The Doctor’s apology eased an ache he didn’t even know he’d had. “But thanks…miss him like crazy already, you know? I have a nasty feeling that he won’t be the only one I’ll miss here soon. And yes, that means _you_.”

They both swayed a bit when the wheels finally hit blacktop, the engine thrumming steady and calm as the car settled onto the road, tires whispering as they got nearer to where they had started from…even as they were miles away from where they were before.

“I’m not happy about this, Doc,” Dean murmured over the hum of the Impala. “I’m not ever _gonna_ be. But I understand. I just…want you to go down swinging - that’s the Doctor I know.”

The Doctor opened his mouth, then thought better of it, closing it again with a snap. Instead he mulled over his thoughts as he studied Dean in the refracted curve of the passenger window.

Then finally, “I’ll try to be the best man I can be, Dean.” His words held all the sincerity his years could muster and Dean felt something else in his chest unlock, an ache being erased even as another took its place.

“You’ve already done that,” Dean replied, hands caressing the steering wheel lovingly as they came up on their turn. “Just don’t let them take you without a fight. _Any_ fight. Don’t tell the people you love that they shouldn’t care - and don’t make their caring _less_...okay? I’ve done that. It doesn’t work as well as you might think.”

The Doctor let that pass for a moment, eyebrow twitching upwards as he considered Dean’s words, weighing the gravity behind them without so much as a flicker of a smile. They let the silence roll for a few minutes, warmer and more comfortable that it had been an hour ago. The press of enjoying the moment – as Dean and the Doctor, the Doctor and Dean – as fleeting as their moment may be, it was more important than any small talk or flattery could ever be.

But it couldn’t last. The Doctor beat Dean to the inevitable icebreaker, right on cue.

“So wise for one so young,” the Doctor remarked, his tone dry, laughter held just behind lips. Dean knew he had been dying, _itching_ to say that, leaving the human fighting to keep the smile off of his own face. “Tell me, how did you _ever_ manage to come up with that gem of –“

“Shut up,” Dean retorted, laughing despite himself.

And with a grin (that familiar, famous, thousand-watt display of teeth), the Doctor did.

They got back to Bobby’s faster than Dean would have liked, the drive a helluva lot shorter than he had previously thought. Warm quiet filled the spaces between the minutes, even the radio was kept off as the two men contemplated the past and the future. Their musings spiraled up and away from them as the Impala spun away the miles in a slow churn of wheels.

In that small space of time, heading to one man’s Home and the other’s familiar structure of safety, it was just them against the future. Just Dean and the Doctor, the Doctor and Dean (this one last time); there was nowhere either of them would rather have been.

 

  
**DW~SPN~DW~SPN~DW**   


 

It seemed like hours (and yet nanoseconds) since they had left, but all too soon, the Impala’s nose crossed under the iron barrier of Singer Salvage. A slight shiver ran through both of them as the metaphorical threshold was breached. The sleek vehicle’s heavy engine caught once, then smoothed out as she rolled sedately, regally back to where the TARDIS sat. The two Classics seemed to nod at one another as the car purred to a stop mere feet from the Doctor’s Ship.

They sat there for a moment, still wrapped in the spell of silence, of a fleeting peace and contentment as the sun bled slowly towards the west; late afternoon spinning into early evening with a slow smear of glorious color, all of Nature saying hello and goodbye in one cosmic breath.

Dean could sense the tension building in the Doctor, his fear of the unknown warring with his determination to leave; politeness and apology the only things keeping his hand from the catch on the door. Dean knew (as much as he wished otherwise) that he couldn’t keep him here, hanging just over the edge of the future. It was laughable to think that he, a mere human, could protect something as powerful and awe-inspiring as the Doctor...but he wanted to. He wanted to keep him safe in this bubble of non-Time, until it collapsed on its own.

With a small puff of resignation, he took mercy on them both and turned off the Chevy’s engine, reaching for the door only when she creaked to silence. A small glance to his right told him the Doctor was waiting for his move.

The ball was in Dean’s court.

He opened the driver’s door and unfolded from the seat, bones feeling old and delicate, even as he thrummed with too much energy. He knew the feeling: it was the anticipation before a Hunt, it was the sight of a new morning, it was the satisfaction of winning and the horror of defeat all wrapped up in one tight ball. It was Unknown and though he lived with it every day, this time (this Time) it was different.

This time he knew the ending.

He might not know everything. He might not know how it happened. But he knew Over when he felt it. Just as he knew he’d drink too much tonight, wake up with a sore head (and temper to match) in the morning; that knowing still wouldn’t erase this feeling. Nothing would. Not until…not until _It_ happened.

And he would know. It would be cold that day. He knew the Universe would shiver to a stop before moving on. He would _feel_ it – he would _know_.

He just didn’t know what he would do about it.

He looked over as the Doctor mirrored his actions, the screech of the heavy door comforting, but too loud. The TARDIS was a monument, a warm shadow next to them, seeming to loom over them both as if trying to hold them close under Her very presence. Dean looked at Her in dry-mouthed awe, wishing for just one more look at Her, wishing he had said ‘yes’ to the unasked question.

Now he never would.

He wished that didn’t hurt so much.

He spared a glance at the Doctor, smiling slightly when he saw the alien had been doing the exact same thing, looking at his Girl and wishing and hoping, even against odds stacked insurmountably high. A challenge – always a challenge…

“Hey,” it came out as a croak and Dean forced himself to swallow around the ache and try again. Keeping his smile fixed, even as it trembled, Dean said as smoothly as he could, “Would you, uhhh –”

The Doctor tore his eyes from his Ship, his smile just as fixed and gentle. His eyes seemed almost too bright, but his gaze was steady and honestly calm. He seemed so ancient and young and melancholy and joyous it made Dean catch his breath around it. Deep down, where he stored all the good things, the bright things, the things comprised of dreams and hopes that never faded, Dean felt something tug and settle, serenity pooling in to soothe any hurt left behind.

“No,” the Time-Lord said softly, smile solidifying, even as sorrow tugged at the corners of it. “Not really a good idea, I think. Actually – I know…but you do, too. You know –”

 _What is waiting for you beyond Bobby’s door_.

Dean nodded, swallowing around that damnable lump, even as warmth and peace washed against it wearing it down. Peace was not to be squandered, friendship was a treasure – both were rare, both were of a value that could not be named.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know – but,” Dean shrugged one shoulder, smile wavering even as the Doctor closed the passenger door, tipping the Stetson back on his head as he scanned the yard; wrecks of old cars teetering against one another to spill across the neck of the sky – holding the universe up as the universe cradled them to the earth.

Gravel crunched softly against boots that were probably older than Dean (even time Downstairs factored in), and the sway of the Doctor’s trench was almost audible against the raging stillness of the junkyard. His smile could be felt through the stretch of Dean’s skin as he stood close, shoulder brushing shoulder, and they studied each other without looking. Weighing, assessing, and measuring, they both came up even, relaxing back into the evening, even as the Goodbye drew nearer than ever.

“Never hurts to offer,” the Doctor finished for Dean.

The Time-Lord tilted his head towards the TARDIS and it was Dean’s turn to shake his head. Laughter bubbled up behind the lines of his lips, even as he blinked back a sting that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the corners of his eyes. At one time, that would have bothered, annoyed, ruffled him. Now, he saw it as his due. It still irritated him, but the Doctor irritated him sometimes, too. And that was okay. That was familiar, warm and wonderful –

That was family.

“Yeah.” Dean agreed, assenting to a lot of things, both the said and unsaid. He didn’t regret some of the unsaid things…some words could be ruined if spoken out loud. It was best to feel them and let them go while holding them close.

“Getting philosophical in your wise years,” the Doctor murmured, that same laughter reined in tight behind his teeth.

“Comes with the sore back and aching feet,” Dean quipped, not knowing what he meant, but knowing the Doctor did – and that was good enough.

It was his turn to sweep the Doctor into a hug and he didn’t miss his cue, folding the alien into his arms in a rough pull. Breathing in that comforting smell of wool and stardust, Dean tried to memorize it. He wanted to keep it, hold it close to the other memories/smells/ideas/sounds of shared affection. Selfishly he wanted to keep it close to the other millions of details in his mind that meant friendship, family and home. For once, he didn’t hold back, knowing all too well how many times he had and regretted it. For once, he let himself miss his friend, even though he was right here.

The brim of the Stetson brushed Dean’s temple as the Doctor tucked his chin to Dean’s shoulder, swaying with him a moment as they pounded each other roughly on the back, their hold locked – a challenge and a draw all at once.

“Hey,” Dean rasped, giving the Doctor’s neck a final squeeze and shake before releasing him from the embrace. “Doc, if…if you make it out of this -”

The Doctor untangled himself reluctantly, smiling even as his eyes were unknowable again. That was okay, though. There were some things Dean didn’t need to be told – he knew them anyway.

“Big ‘ _If_ ’ there, Dean,” was the mild reply, one hand coming up to pat Dean’s cheek in a gesture that was irritating and wonderful all at once. Dean leaned into the pat without thinking, and he had to quickly pull back in an effort to save face. The Doctor grinned anyway, hands dropping to sit heavily on his hips as he glanced behind himself to the TARDIS, Her exterior seeming to glow, even as light faded slowly from the sky above.

Dean nodded his acknowledgement, even as he steeled himself with hope – the currency and bane of their realm, and sometimes the only thing they had to barter with.

“But if you do,” Dean hesitated, watching the Doctor’s face as he smiled with his mouth and his eyes at the same time; the expression telling Dean it would be okay – even if it never would be. “If you do...drop a guy a note, will ya? Just in case...”

The Doctor laughed, head tipping back to the sky for a mere moment. He looked so, so alien even as he fitted so well against the seam of the world. Dean loved him and hated him fiercely all at once (and ohh, wouldn’t the Doctor find that even funnier in all the ways that weren’t humorous). He wished he could have just one more adventure, even as he wished he had never been burdened with caring about him. But that wasn’t unusual…that was life – and all the beautiful and terrifying things that it was comprised of.

The Time-Lord spun smoothly on one heel, moving with a graceful, almost ethereal glide to his Machine, never looking more removed than at that moment – one hand on Her door ( _Hello, Sexy_ ), fingers tucked in the thin lines between Her panels, reverence and centuries of comfort in that one move – even as he smiled over his shoulder. The twitch of his lips, the mirth in his eyes brought Dean straight to the here and now, awareness of everything around them singing over and through him.

The Doctor thought it through, shoulder coming up in a half shrug as he gave Dean’s wishes due thought. He nodded his agreement, no harm in offering.

“I will, Dean,” He seemed so alien and odd and human and ordinary in that moment. His voice was lowered as though he was sharing a secret that could topple the universe. “That much I _can_ promise.”

Dean nodded as the Time-Lord folded his long limbs through the door, splashes of orange-gold spilling from the interior. Dean was almost thankful to have the man leaving, but still felt a heavy regret when that door closed, the soft click shivering through Dean's bones. The sound seemed to move beyond him, creaking against the cars stacked all around him, whole worlds rising and falling within the force of that sound.

There were so many things he had wanted to ask, so many things he never wanted to know. Sometimes, he knew the Doctor was relieved by that – the one man who would never want to know, even as his very core shouted questions. This had been his last chance to ask them.

But the Doctor hadn’t even paused, intuiting the truth before Dean could even think it: he would get there when he got there. Sometimes foreshadowing (not spoilers, just hints) was worse than the Unknown.

So it was a relief and a regret when two breaths later the earth rumbled under his feet – silver incorporeal nimbus popping into place around the TARDIS as the light on top of the Time-Machine whirred to life. Each sweep shuddered down Her frame, pushing Her out of the space that She occupied and forcing Dean’s reality back in. She groaned and wheezed to Herself (the sound promising safety and comfort and adventure and exhilaration – tugging at that secret place of memory in Dean’s heart and mind), as She flickered in and out of being. The rushing whoosh of Her engines faded as the molecules rushed back in to occupy the empty spaces.

He forced himself to stand and watch as the wind from the Vortex whipped around and past him, blowing dirt across his boots and the smell of stardust against his face. Then, with a mild sonic boom, She was gone again, the emptiness She left behind too big to be filled with the mundane reality left in Her wake.

It hurt to realize he would miss Her, too.

“Goodbye, Old Girl,” he said to where She had been. “Take good care of him.”

He stood there for a long time, trying to breathe in Reality and breathe out the wrongness that permeated that patch of ground where She had stood guard. He stood there until the impossible orange-gold of the early evening fell into the bluest-blue before he stepped across the point where She had sat (solidness shivering over his skin), to head to the house, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, head down, eyes following his boots as they walked him to the back door. He mounted the steps one at a time. The thrill of victory, of accomplishment lightening his tread, even as the gravity of loss, the tired pull of losing dragged across his shoulders.

Dean stepped into the muggy warmth of Bobby’s home – feeling the threshold bend and snap back, too much awareness in his blood. He hung up his jacket, placed his keys (carefully, quietly) on the side-table near the stairs. His body tilted to the murmur of voices in the kitchen. He needed the company. He needed his family, even as he wished to retreat.

How did you explain winning a loss?

But then, how did one explain _anything_ having to do with the Doctor?

He let the dim (homey, cradling) light of Bobby’s kitchen spill across his boots for one second, then two then three, before stepping into the sudden silence. Their eyes were on him for a mere moment; pulling away quickly when he looked up. They knew.

Dean hesitated, then swept past them, heading to the fridge in a rush. He reached for a beer (really wishing for the hard stuff), but then changed his mind and settled on a can of Coke. A smile twitched into existence as he thought briefly of the Doctor and his reaction to the beverage. Turning away from the fridge, Dean popped the tab, committing himself before he could change his mind and grab a beer anyway.

He took a swig, blinking back carbonation, before turning to face Bobby and Sam. He forced himself to look at them before blowing out a small breath, in an effort to lose some tension.

“How long?” The question wanted to be asked, even as it wanted to stick in his throat. He was amazed it didn’t come out as a squeak.

They both started to talk at once, stilled by a short swipe of his hand through the air, fingertips dangling the can carefully before he took another drink. He smiled at them to let them know he wasn’t angry.

He was surprised he wasn’t angry…but he was too tired to be angry, too tired to waste the effort, and too awake to not forgive them. Somehow, he knew they had been protecting him. And though he didn’t like it, he knew that sometimes – _sometimes_ – you did things you thought better of later when it came to those you love.

They tried to protect him. The Doctor did the same thing. In the end, all they did was hold each other up and help each other forward (for good or bad) and right now, that was all that counted.

“Just…how long?”

“A few weeks, maybe,” Sam answered slowly, Bobby a solid and silent presence beside him. The pressure of their eyes comforting and restricting all at once. “I’m sorry, Dean. I just didn’t know how –”

“It’s okay,” Dean interrupted. He was even more surprised to find that deep down, beyond the white lies and shells he used to protect himself with, it really was okay. “Who?”

“Rory,” Bobby rumbled, his voice rushing in to soothe the hollow spaces that might be left behind.

“Ahhh,” Dean murmured, knowing all the reasons why it was Rory and not Amy: Amy would be too upset, Amy wouldn’t believe it (even if she saw it and Dean half-suspected she did), Amy was protecting him – and Rory was protecting her. He refused to believe Rory didn’t care. Just because he wasn’t loud with it, didn’t mean he didn’t care. Rory did so quietly, but fiercely.

The fact that he called at all spoke volumes.

“He wanted to speak to you, but…” Sam’s voice was faded with worry and preparation. His exhaustion bled through his voice, a twin to Dean’s, their combined weariness making Dean’s bones seem heavier than ever, the day rushing to catch up with him. But it didn’t matter. He tried to keep his own worry at bay, the automatic reflex to reassure Sammy, to keep him content kicked in, and he drew some strength from the act of the habit, if nothing else.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he smiled, knowing he looked as tired and as worn as Sam felt. “I know. I understand, man – I really do.”

Dean drained the last of the coke and crumpled the can without thinking. Bobby never could stand it, and the man flinched even now as Dean tossed the can into the trash. Spinning to clamp a warm hand on Bobby's shoulder, Dean nodded to his brother and gave Singer a small shake, letting them know it was okay, it was alright. Tomorrow it may not be, but today it was all okay.

“I’m heading to bed, guys – save me some stew, yeah?”

The tension drained out of the corners of the kitchen when he said that, both of them standing to crowd close – as close as he would let them – stoic bookends: family, protection and something to lean on when he was done in. Bobby’s hand clapped down between his shoulder-blades as Sam gave him a slight nudge, swaying with him when he leaned into it.

“Sure, Dean,” Bobby rasped, as Sam nodded his silent assent. “Want us to wake you later?”

“Nahh,” Dean murmured, soaking up their quiet support and letting it wash over him like he never had before. Usually, he was the one to do that, to give a shoulder to lean on. He never took it when offered, always shying away from it, like it might make him less. But today he would be less if he didn't accept it for what it was, if he didn't thank them for it. “It’s been a long day – longer day tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” they echoed, gentle and rough and dismissive and intense – and very much there if he needed them.

“Car needs water…carburetor needs some adjustment –”

“And the Doctor?” Not pressing, but needing to know, that was Sam all over.

“Saving the stars,” - _with his life_ \- “like he always does.” Dean replied, giving them a crooked grin. “Thanks, guys…see you all in the morning?”

_Will you be there? Can you be there?_

“Always, son,” Bobby rumbled, already turning back to the stew on the stove like the question needed never be asked.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam smiled, his assurance a promise of so many things.

 

  
**SPN~DW~SPN~DW~SPN**   


 

It took a long time to fall asleep, even as weary as he was. He shifted to see outside of the window and found he could only truly let himself go when he found that one star – _the bluest-blue_ – nestled amidst the smeared pitch of the sky, the wink of its light following him down into sleep.

It had been a long day – a good day, a horrible day, filled with endings that were actually beginnings – but it could always be an even longer day tomorrow.

He slept deeply, the first restful sleep he had gotten since he had lost Castiel, the blink of that one strange star hovering to keep watch over him all throughout the long dark.  



End file.
